Broken
by SyntaxSynodic
Summary: No mercy...


**A/N Hey guys. Scree here. So uh. This just kinda came out. It covers chapters 11-13, so SPOILS. Major spoils!**

**Also, this came out in like. Three hours. So I apologize if you're waiting for any of our other stories to update. ;w;**

**Also, while I have in fact written a fanfiction, I'm still in the process of finishing the game! I just started the "Answers" chapter, so please do not spoil that for me. Hotline is pretty much my fave game right now. I can't wait for the second, heheh.**

**Major bloody bloods and gross mental health. You have been warned.**

* * *

Light fizzes through your veins. Your pulse rockets, alarming your body for a moment before the calm finally sets in and you no longer feel the panic. You no longer feel anything. You try to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth but the pressure you feel in your head when you do is unbearable. The sharp ringing in your ears as the pressure increases brings you to your knees.

_You were the only thing I had left…_

You fall to your knees beside her, unable to stand, unable to breath, unable to **think!**

_Please no, please! No no no no!_

"**NO!**" The scream ejects all at once from your body like lighting. "Come back…"

Her beautiful forehead is marred by _a hole._ **Evil void**. It brought what was inside of her out against her will and this is something you can't fix. Something you can't fix…

Your shaking hand finds its way to her gorgeous blonde hair… Darkened and sticky. You tremble, willing life back into her warm scalp.

"Wake up…" Your hand burns. You realize this is because her blood is still hot, and you fight back the urge to choke.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Baby girl, please…" This is _**your**_ fault. **Your fault.**

You lay your head on hers and it's warm and sticky and real. The smell of iron and heat causes your body to desire distance from her, but you do **NOT** allow it.

_This isn't gross. This isn't gross. _

You stifle a gag as her life soaks through your letter jacket and your shirt. You feel like you're being electrocuted. You feel like you're burning. You feel like someone has ripped your scalp open and is trying to pry their fingers into the fissures of your skull to separate the plates.

_Why is this happening? _

…

_Who did this?_

Your blood smoulders with the desire to _**crus**__**h**_ the person who put the unforgiving hole in her angelic head and you can't think and you can't think and you can't think.

Can't.

Think.

Your face is… wet. You stand shakily, but a sudden lurch brings you to your knees in the doorway. Your body forces out the contents of your stomach. Just like it did when this all started. Your eyes and nose and mouth are covered in the fluids of your insides and her insides and everything hurts. Everything hurts.

_Oh God, there's nothing left. _

You hold your head as if to keep it from splitting in half.

A noise from your living room draws your head slowly up. You look down the hall to your left. Adrenaline surges through your arteries and you scrabble for your baseball bat. Whoever is there is going to **die**.

You jump to your feet and thunder down the hallway. You turn the corner and lift your bat with every intention to **destroy- **but you stop dead.

You know this person. Adorning his face is a rat mask- Richter. You know it is him; the green shirt and dark jeans billowing over a stick thin frame prove that it is him. He sits calmly on your couch, his head swivels up as you walk in. Richter is your friend. Richter is on your side. No need for the bat, Richter is… is… You see the silenced pistol laying next to him on your couch cushion and you understand.

Richter is a _traitor._

"Ah, there you are!" His voice rings through your apartment. "I was wondering when you'd be getting back." You raise your bat and ready yourself to rush him. He's thin, but he's quick and in no way weak in mind. He sighs and shakes his head.

"Let's get this over with, then." You look down the barrel of that cursed pistol for a moment and then nothing is left.

! ! !

Static… you're back in your room. Everything is dark. You run to the living room and instead of Richter on your couch, it is Richard… he wears a letter jacket identical to yours, he always has. You've never thought about it much until now. Why?

You stare down at your own bloodied body. It shares the same void hers had. Has? What time is it..?

"Looks like it's just you and me left now." Richard says. He sounds disappointed. "I'm sure you know by now… this won't end well." You stare at the rooster mask covering his face.

"Soon, you will be all alone. But that's okay." You fight back the urge to cry. He sounds so tired. "Before we say goodbye, I'll let you in on a little secret…" He leans forward. "What you do from here on won't serve a purpose. You will never see the whole picture… And it's all your own fault." A scarred hand reaches up and pulls off the mask. Richard is you.

"Now. It's time for you to leave." He points to the door. "There's a warm bed across the hall from here. And you look like you could use some rest." You don't remember leaving the apartment. You don't remember much of anything.

! ! !

The beeping of an ECG can be faintly heard, almost as if through water.

"-s been in a coma for weeks now."

"But he's going to wake up… right? This guy is a prime suspect in a major crime!"

"Look, my guess is as good as yours. Though I can say, it might be a while…" The person attached to this voice sighs. "He's still not even fully healed from the surgery."

"Is there nothing you can do? We need this guy!" Your stomach drops.

_Keep your eyes closed… _

"You people weren't able to save his girlfriend…" Your gut twists like you've been stabbed. "I mean, we've got the perp who shot them both in the locker, but that asshole ain't sayin' shit!" You fight not to clench your jaw or curl your fists. Richter. Surely the cops have caught on by now. Then again, your were never subtle…

"And what makes you think this guy will?" The person you assume to be a doctor of some sort says. You don't remember the rest of their conversation.

! ! !

When you wake, no one is present. You extricate yourself from the ECG machine and all of it's wires. You need to leave now. You need to finish the job. Your head rings and everything is swimming but you will go to the police station and **finish the job.**

! ! !

You hurriedly shove the key into the lock and your heart soars at the satisfying click of the tumbles. You burst into the cell, bloodying the door. but none of it is your own blood. None of it is ever your own blood… You hear Richter exclaim as you explode into his confined space, but you don't quite catch the words over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. After a moment, he becomes somber.

"Look man… I'm sorry about your girl. It wasn't anything personal." You snarl. Here he is in front of you, without his mask to protect his identity. He is older than you. Bald. His face is covered with the lines and wrinkles telltale of bad habits.

"I know you made it all the way here, but… I think you're in a for a disappointment. I don't really have any answers for you." Answers were never what you sought. Not even today. No. You exit the cell briefly, and pick up a baton next to a fallen officer. The floor around him is covered in blood, and your shoes track it all the way back to Richter. He hasn't moved.

The baton collides with his skull and the sound is hollow and pleasing. He falls back, nearly smashing into a wall. Crimson blood spatters adorn his face and shirt.

"Damn… that one hurt…" He spits out a tooth. He can't see your glare; the tiger mask covering your face protects your identity from a monster like him. "You know, we might not be that different, you and I. Have you also been getting those weird phone calls?" He doesn't know. **You are nothing like him.** You clench your ripped and bloody fists. He coughs up blood and his green eyes look dead. "I wish I had something to tell you. But I don't. The police may know about this whole mess more than I do. They'd have a file on it here somewhere." He looks up at you, a man and not a rat, and you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. "I'd ask you to spare my life, but-" a sudden coughing fit splits his sentence. "You look like you've made up your mind." Your fingers itch for his throat. He was right. No mercy. **NO MERCY**. You knock him back from his sitting position with your elbow. Pin him to the ground. Throat throat throat. Your fingers dig into the bony ridges of his trachea and he struggles and his face is red and you hold on. Hold on. Hold on.

_THIS IS FOR HER!_

A sound comes from deep within and past the barrier of your lips that you'd never heard yourself make before. It sounds like an anguished, broken animal. He tries to gain control of the situation, and you smash his head against the cement. Again. Again. AGAIN. **AGAIN.**

It is done. You leave the broken monster and walk calmly around the station. The file is in the room with the computers. You saw it earlier when you were getting rid of the people who shielded Richter from your punishment. You step over the two crimson officers and grab the file. You want to leave, but something catches your attention.

Richter's mask. It stares at you with hollow eyes. You stuff it into your jacket to SILENCE the guilt it wants you to feel. You will feel no guilt for this. You will feel no guilt for this.

You will feel the _blood _from this.


End file.
